(no subject)
In Memory
----
Whenever I hold a kaleidoscope
Or on Passover
Or when I see a cowboy hat
Or when the spinning hubcap of a summer day Cadillac rips by
Whenever I have a wine glass, watch an old video of a rocket launching
He will be there, as he always has been
And that is why, you can not tell me that he is dead
The only casket that he lays in is the bleached bone of my skull
Some sort of raft and I am the ferryman, this boat is parked
He loved his kaleidoscope collection so much that I almost mistook him as one
can remember him spinning its beaded end against the sun and
As he stairs intently inside twisting shapes against the light behind
I’m watching the light behind him collide with him and glow
When I twist my eyes it makes him look like
he has a halo but
we don’t have to pretend that we are angels because
we don’t have to pretend we are something that we are
especially when that something doesn’t really exist anywhere but
in a book and in the skies and in our minds
Like me like him like you like love like time like life
And that is why you can not tell me he is dead
So long as my earthly born memories
make themselves a voice loud enough to shatter the glass sculpture of my spirit
solid enough to crash against opaque store paned windows in the plaza
like blue bird, raven, pigeon colliding with our car windshields
interrupting our lonely daily drives with crack crack fall smack
with all the weight of the world a blue bird, a raven, a pigeon beat against my lung cage
when I remember him it feels good to cry
I feel like a window shopper who can’t afford to buy more time
so all we get are memories we should be thankful we had in the first place
empty wings if I could fill you with enough hot air goodbyes
I’d be some hollow boned bird and I’d fly you away in this skull of mine
because on days like these I can barely believe
that the floorboards
can still hold our weight
----
Whenever I hold a kaleidoscope
Or on Passover
Or when I see a cowboy hat
Or when the spinning hubcap of a summer day Cadillac rips by
Whenever I have a wine glass, watch an old video of a rocket launching
He will be there, as he always has been
And that is why, you can not tell me that he is dead
The only casket that he lays in is the bleached bone of my skull
Some sort of raft and I am the ferryman, this boat is parked
He loved his kaleidoscope collection so much that I almost mistook him as one
can remember him spinning its beaded end against the sun and
As he stairs intently inside twisting shapes against the light behind
I’m watching the light behind him collide with him and glow
When I twist my eyes it makes him look like
he has a halo but
we don’t have to pretend that we are angels because
we don’t have to pretend we are something that we are
especially when that something doesn’t really exist anywhere but
in a book and in the skies and in our minds
Like me like him like you like love like time like life
And that is why you can not tell me he is dead
So long as my earthly born memories
make themselves a voice loud enough to shatter the glass sculpture of my spirit
solid enough to crash against opaque store paned windows in the plaza
like blue bird, raven, pigeon colliding with our car windshields
interrupting our lonely daily drives with crack crack fall smack
with all the weight of the world a blue bird, a raven, a pigeon beat against my lung cage
when I remember him it feels good to cry
I feel like a window shopper who can’t afford to buy more time
so all we get are memories we should be thankful we had in the first place
empty wings if I could fill you with enough hot air goodbyes
I’d be some hollow boned bird and I’d fly you away in this skull of mine
because on days like these I can barely believe
that the floorboards
can still hold our weight